It is done! With this epilogue Hiding in Plain Sight is complete! (I have posted chapters 15 and 16 together, so if you jumped straight here, you have to read 15 first!)

I would never have reached this point without the constant help, nagging, encouragement and general awesomeness of MrsNoggin, my fantastic beta and personal sleuth for plot holes and inconsistencies! Thank you sooo much dear!

Thanks of course to you all for sticking with me this entire time, for reading, reviewing, favouring and following chapter after chapter. I never imagined that my little story would reach so many people and I am extremely humbled by all the positive feedback.

So, without any further ado, on with the story:

Six months later

John watched in resignation as Sherlock disappeared around the corner in hot pursuit of a suspect. He missed the running, the thrill of the chase, but his knee just did not allow him those fast movements any more. He was already lucky to be able to walk without a cane. That was the most recent achievement of his miracle worker of a physiotherapist. Without her constant push and encouragement he wondered if he would even be walking at all.

The last six months had been tough; the recovery from his numerous injuries had kept him in the hospital for several weeks. He'd had, altogether, four surgeries on the knee, repairing the massive damage and removing scar tissue, followed by months of physiotherapy to get his knee back in shape. Learning how to walk again was difficult and frustrating, but with the steadfast support from Greg and the constant fussing from Mrs Hudson, he made it through. Even Sherlock had been surprisingly supportive during his rehab. The detective had recovered from his physical injuries in no time, but the scars left on his mind were a different topic altogether.

Sherlock, true to his self, refused any kind of therapy. He insisted that he was fine but John knew better. He saw the lines of exhaustion in Sherlock's face, the testament of too many sleepless nights, and the look of panic in his eyes when something triggered a memory. He noticed that Sherlock avoided dark rooms and had a sudden aversion to cereal. As long as John was stuck at the hospital he could not do much, other than voice out his concern to Greg and Mycroft, who both tried to help in their own ways.

Once he was released from the hospital and back in their Baker Street flat, things escalated. A traumatised and bored detective coupled with an immobilised and frustrated ex-soldier seemed to be the perfect ingredients for disaster. There was screaming, smashing and even tears. But eventually their anger was vented and the talking started. Sherlock opened up about the weeks of his solitary capture and John voiced out his own fears and devastation at Sherlock's apparent suicide. They both went for therapy sessions to work through the most severe trauma, Mycroft insisted, and eventually even Sherlock caved in. It helped that they both were seeing the same therapist, even though their sessions were separate.

After the talking, things slowly started to get better. John's physiotherapy showed the first results, giving him some of his mobility back and Sherlock's nightmares and flashbacks became less and less frequent. There was still some tension in the flat, but they had come to a shaky truce for now. Things took a definite turn for the better when Sherlock was taking cases again and John was actually able to walk with a cane and accompany his friend.

One of the major roadblocks had been Sherlock's continued hostility towards his brother. For once, John sided with Mycroft, he had even forgiven him the manipulations that led to his discovery of Sherlock's plan. After all, he had acted out of genuine worry for his little brother, and his meddling had saved Sherlock's life! John could sympathise with that. Sherlock on the other hand was relentless.

Deciding that it was getting ridiculous, John started his own manipulations, careful to remain subtle about it, he slowly pushed Sherlock closer to his older brother. Using everything that he had learned about the pair and their complicated relationship, he eventually managed to get them to mend their fences. In the end, both Holmes brothers had come to a newfound mutual respect for the characteristics of the other, and their relationship, while still not exactly close, was better than it had been in years. John was immensely pleased with himself.

Suddenly torn out of his memories, John heard a scream from the direction in which Sherlock had disappeared. So he had caught up with the criminal then. But the voice was a familiar deep baritone, and the sound made John's blood run cold. He accelerated his steps to the fastest he could manage, trying desperately to catch up with the erratic detective, pushing images of a bleeding, dying Sherlock out of his mind.

He finally rounded the last corner and was faced with an annoyed looking, but unhurt detective and a terrified suspect with a bloody nose, covering against the wall, trembling in fear. A small pocket knife lay forgotten on the floor between them. John looked from one to the other and then settled his glance on his flatmate. Eyebrows elevated, he silently asked for an explanation.

Sherlock grabbed his ever present blue scarf with both hands and held it up for John to see. It looked fine, except for a small cut near one of the ends. The picture started to become clearer in John's head.

"He cut my scarf!"

"And obviously that justifies you breaking his nose." He had approached the scared man and carefully assessed his injury.

Sherlock snorted in disgust. "He's lucky it's only his nose. This is my favourite scarf. Mycroft kept it all this time for me and now it's ruined, just because this idiot here had to put up a fight instead of surrender himself to a clearly superior opponent."

"It's a bloody scarf, Sherlock, I am sure we can find you a new one."

Sherlock huffed, then turned around and started typing on his mobile. "Cuff him to that pipe. I've text Lestrade to pick him up. Let's go home, John."

John shot the poor sod an apologetic look, and then pulled out the cuffs that Sherlock had 'borrowed' from one of Lestrade officers at the crime scene. "Wait here, the police will come to get you in no time. And, erm, sorry about the nose."

John walked out of the alley just in time to see Sherlock disappear into a cab and close the door behind him. 'Great,' he thought annoyed, 'Some things never change!' But the cab did not drive off, instead Sherlock opened the door.

John hesitated. '...or do they?'

"John, do keep up. Get in the car!" He called impatiently, motioning for John to enter the cab. "Lestrade's just text back, he has a new case." There was an excited gleam in his eyes. "I do hope it's a serial killer, they're always entertaining." The damaged scarf hung forgotten around his neck.

John simply stared at him and grinned. He couldn't put a finger on what exactly caused it; Sherlock's excitement, the adrenaline leaving his system or the sheer joy that both of them were alive, but he felt bubbly and giddy inside, almost lightheaded. Sitting down beside his friend, he saw the confused look the detective gave him and started giggling. Sherlock's frown slowly changed into understanding and then a wide smile spread over his face, his eyes sparkling with delight. In a heartbeat both of them were dissolved in helpless laughter, letting go of the sorrow caused by Sherlock's death and the following chain of events, and slipping comfortably back into their old comradeship.

'Yes,' John thought, 'Some things never do change, and that is a good thing!'

THE END

AN: There are a few lose threads that have been left open on purpose, like how exactly did John figure out that Sherlock is alive, how much help did Mycroft really give? What was Molly's involvement? Also, how was Sherlock's return taken by the public?

Hiding in Plain Sight was all about John saving Sherlock and I feel that this story stands complete as it is. If you have any suggestions, requests for sequels, things you want to see, places to go, please PM me! I am always game for a good challenge!